Easy
by Everlarkffs
Summary: An Everlark one-shot about the death of a loved one. Warning: Main character death.


My hands tremble, barely able to keep a grasp on my wife's hand. The only comfort I've been able to find since this all started has been physical contact. Not sex or kissing, but hand-holding. Her hands have been one of the last things she can control. The slight squeezes I get every so often are to comfort her and to tell me that's she's still alive and still mine. I slowly rub my thumb against the back of her hand, her skin still so soft, her hand still so warm.

She's so beautiful. God, she's beautiful. Every day when I wake up with her body close to mine, I take a few minutes to realize that she's a real human being who's way beyond perfection. The way the freckles on her face can be connected together to form a flower, or how there's always one piece of her hair too stubborn to stay within the confines of her braid. And even now, when she has a tubes protruding from every inch of her body, she's so beautiful.

I give her hand a quick, comforting squeeze and within a few seconds she reciprocates. Her eyes peel open, her irises still the same steel gray they were years ago.

"Hi," I say, swiping my thumb over her hand again.

Her eyes close, and I'm plagued with a sudden sadness. I feel almost selfish for feeling this way, since I know the simple task of keeping her eyes open exhausts her almost immediately.

"Peeta," she breathes.

I nod my head several times, but quickly remember she can't see me. "Yes?"

She takes a few deep breaths, the machine next to her helping the process. "Water." She wants water.

Although she still has the ability to speak, it's become too tiring for her, so she tries to keep her sentences short.

I lean over her and grip the glass, making sure not to spill it all over her freshly washed bed sheets. I guide the straw to her mouth and let her take a few slow sips. On the third sip she takes in too much, and the water spills from her lips, drenching the front of her hospital gown. She makes a noise of annoyance and releases my hand, obviously irritated with herself.

The doctors suggested feeding her exclusively through tubes, but she angrily declined the offer. She's lost complete mobility, she can't move her arms, she gets tired from short conversations, and she barely has the strength to keep her eyes open. She doesn't want to lose everything.

I mop up the extra liquid that spilled onto her bed and walk over to the cupboard to get a replacement gown. I pull back the thin covers and begin to undress her. I peel off the wet clothing and can't help but stare at her quickly failing body. She's visibly thinner, most of her bones protruding underneath her skin. I know how self-conscious she is right now, so I avert my eyes and focus on putting clothing on her. When I'm done and I've thrown the wet gown into the garbage, I sit back down. A steady stream of tears fall from her closed eyes.

"Katniss, what's wrong?" I ask, intertwining my fingers with hers again.

"I'm dying," she says with no self-pity evident in her voice.

I shake my head slowly. My hands begin to visibly tremble. "Katniss," I whisper. I'm about to continue, but she surprisingly speaks up again, with a sudden tone of anger.

"I am. I can't even drink _water_ by myself. I can't drink fucking water." Her eyes have opened now, but she won't look at me. She stares blankly at the wall and breathes deeply, trying to catch her breath.

"What's bothering you?" I ask, not knowing what else to say. What am I supposed to say during a time like this? I can't tell her everything is going to be fine because we both know that's far beyond the truth, no matter how hard I try to deny it.

"_Everything_!" she says loudly, turning to finally look at me. "I can't move, I can barely breathe, and I can't even drink water anymore. I'm dying. And I'm leaving _you_ and _Maya_ and _Luke_ and I can't stand it."

My breath hitches hearing our children's names. "Katniss," I say, moving closer to her. "You know it's not your fault."

She nods her head. "I know. But I can't accept it. I've tried and I _can't_. I'm leaving my children and husband and I can't do anything about it." Her quiet stream of tears stops, and she openly cries, something she doesn't normally do. She heaves for breath, her oxygen machine working on full power.

I quickly crouch down to her level and press my forehead to hers, attempting to calm her down. The monitor next to her beeps faster and louder while her heart rate increases.

"Our children will know the amazing person you are. I'll tell them every single day how strong and beautiful and intelligent their mother is. I'll tell them how much you loved them and how leaving them hurt like hell. Don't ever think for a second that you're abandoning them." My voice falters, cracking on my last words, tears dangerously close to spilling over. I can't cry in front of her. I can't burden her like that.

The monitor's beeps slow down, and her whimpers fade away. "I love you," she whispers into my ear.

"I love you, too."

We lie together in silence, the warmth of our bodies soothing us both. She tries to keep her eyes open for as long as she can, but they flutter close every few seconds. She's used up most of her limited energy.

I kiss her forehead, lingering for just a second. "I think we both need a nap," I say, squeezing her hand.

She squeezes back, and the corners of her mouth turn up quickly, but slowly lower as her exhaustion takes over her body.

After lying with her for a few minutes I move off of her bed and sit back down in my chair. I rest my head on the bed and keep fingers laced with hers.

X X X

I wake up groggy, my hand still intertwined with hers. Katniss is already awake. I can tell by the way she breathes. When asleep, her breaths are spaced out and rhythmic. When awake, they're much closer together and labored.

"Hey," I say, giving her hand a squeeze. It takes her a few moments for her body to react.

I sense that she's still exhausted from our last conversation. It must've drained all of her energy. I'm quite surprised that our three hour nap didn't help with her fatigue. But I know I'm being way too hard on her. It's hard to accept just how fragile she is now.

The door opens across the room and her doctor walks in. His white coat, as usual, doesn't have a speck of debris on it.

"Mr. Mellark? May I talk to you in the hall for a moment?"

I nod my head and kiss Katniss's forehead. We have weekly updates on her health, but usually we talk about them in front of her. I close the door behind me and I can already sense something is off.

He breathes deeply. "Mr. Mellark, Katniss isn't doing well."

"She hasn't been doing well for months," I snap. I'm not trying to be rude, but telling me what I already know hurts.

"She's getting much worse," he says, pausing before continuing again. "We both knew this time was coming, it was just a matter of how much she could handle."

I'm crying now. All the emotions I've been bottling over the last few months became too much for my mind. My whole body shakes. The Doctor puts a hand on my shoulder.

"She's so strong, Peeta." I'm taken slightly aback that he's using my first name. He's always been so formal. "She's made it farther than we all expected, but she can't be that strong for much longer." He doesn't have to say anything else. Katniss is dying right as we speak. "I'd give her a one or two days. I'm sorry," he says and turns away.

I'm left frozen in the hallway, my fists clenched tightly. I don't know what I'm feeling anymore; I'm just numb.

After composing myself, I enter the room again. Her eyes are still closed.

I'm about to speak and tell her, but she just says, "I know." And that's all she has to say. We don't speak for a few hours. We just lay together in s

I must have fallen asleep. I'm startled awake by Katniss's harsh coughing. I stand up quickly and fumble with the breathing machine. Her coughs only become louder and more violent. She can't catch her breath.

I slam the button next to her bed, meant for emergencies only. I'm not sure if this is an emergency, but considering how quickly the nurse and doctor come in, I know that they've been preparing for this. h

I look back at Katniss, who's now clutching the bedspread, trying everything to keep breathing—to stay alive. Her chest heaves with each strenuous breath.

They put a mask on her attached to a tank with what I assume is oxygen and some kind of drug. We all know it's useless. This isn't just her trying to catch her breath. This is her heart giving up.

The extra source of oxygen helps a little bit, making her breathing quieter. The doctor and nurse step away from the bed, both knowing there's nothing else they can do.

The oxygen wasn't meant to try and fix her. It was meant to make dying easier.

I reach for her hand, taking it carefully in mine. She turns her head towards me as her breathing begins to slow.

"You are _so_strong," I hiccup. The tears are falling nonstop now as I watch my wife slipping away from me. "You have been so strong. You can let go. You can let go now."

Her eyes open for a split second before they close shut. I take in the color one last time and close my own for a few seconds, not wanting to see anything else. When I reopen them, her chest is rising and falling slower.

She lets out a breath and her chest stops moving.

I squeeze her hand. Somewhere within me there's a small sliver of hope that she'll respond and squeeze back. But she doesn't. My grasp on her hand doesn't falter as I break down next to her.

I can't let go. I don't want to let go.

_**I hope you enjoyed xxxx**_


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